


In the green grass behind the stadium

by mjules



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-11
Updated: 2011-09-11
Packaged: 2017-10-23 15:21:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/251898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mjules/pseuds/mjules
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>HS!AU - Anders is a cheerleader who bets he can get football star Garrett Hawke to ask him out in time for the homecoming game. Fenris takes his bet and ups the stakes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the green grass behind the stadium

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by syberfag's lovely artwork on tumblr: http://27.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lrbyd00yAZ1qgd40oo1_500.jpg
> 
> Title is from Van Morrison's "Brown-Eyed Girl".

In some ways, Anders knew, he brought it on himself. He had what his foster parents called “a smart mouth,” and it had gotten him grounded more than once. It also tended to make the bullies notice him more instead of less. But it definitely wasn’t his fault that the bullies had a problem with him being openly bisexual and on the cheerleading squad. That was _their_ problem for being such narrow-minded bigots.

 

Like Leto, the kicker of the football team, who hated Anders for reasons unknown. Too bad they had to see each other all the time, since the cheerleaders and the football team practiced in the same field and, of course, were at the same games. Leto wasn’t the friendly sort anyway -- he’d been nicknamed Fenris by Coach Hawke and his assistant, Mr. Thekla during tryouts his first year.

 

 _“He’s like a little wolf,”_ Coach Hawke had said gleefully, watching Leto tackle guys twice his size with a fearless snarl. The Fenris nickname came from Mr. Thekla, who taught world history honors and had a thing for world mythologies.

 

Anders had had a terrible crush on Mr. Thekla for the entirety of his freshman year. It wasn’t just because he was the first gay man Anders had ever met who had told him it was okay to like boys, although he was. But everyone liked Mr. Thekla -- even the local gay-hating church hadn’t gotten more than twenty-five signatures on their petition to get him fired or at least taken off the football team’s coaching staff. The whole town, small and conservative as it was, had handwaved the church’s claims that Mr. Thekla would corrupt young minds and molest the students. Privately, Anders had wished that were true. He _wanted_ to be corrupted. It sounded like so much fun.

 

But then, his sophomore year, Coach Hawke’s oldest son Garrett had come in as a freshman, and Anders’s crush on Mr. Thekla had been so thoroughly eclipsed it was like it had never existed. The day Garrett had walked into the gay-straight alliance meeting and cheerfully announced his own bisexuality, Anders ended up with bruises up and down his arms from pinching himself.

 

Garrett was on the JV team because that was where freshmen went and Coach Hawke refused to show favoritism, but he could have made the varsity team right away. He and his younger brother had been holding footballs since they could make fists, as Coach Hawke had often reminded the team in his pep talks that always came down to _“Practice, practice, practice!”_

 

Anders had felt a little ridiculous carrying such a torch for a younger boy, but even as a freshman, Garrett had had long, delicate fingers that could curl around a football like a lover’s hand on a curved hip and a square chin and broad shoulders he’d been just waiting to grow into. Anders had spent two solid years watching him do just that, aching from the sidelines with the other cheerleaders.

 

To his great surprise, that obvious and puppy-like devotion seemed to be the source of Leto’s latest problem with Anders, but not for the reasons he would have thought.

 

“You are embarrassing yourself.”

 

Anders looked up from his notebook -- casually covering the doodles of a heart with his and Garrett’s initials -- to see Leto glowering over him. There was practice today, and despite the pair of crutches he was leaning on, he was still dressed in his uniform jersey, a dedicated member of the team. Anders was dedicated in his own way, wearing his cheerleading uniform. Besides team pride, the track-style pants were incredibly comfortable.

 

“Funny that,” Anders said with false cheer. “I don’t _feel_ embarrassed.”

 

Leto snorted indelicately, shifting on the crutches to take the weight off his sprained ankle. “He is not going to notice you.”

 

Despite the icy feeling that slithered down his spine, Anders held onto his bravado rather admirably, he thought. “You know, you’re kind of a jerk, but I never pegged you for a homophobe. Considering Garrett’s your best friend and all.”

 

And that _did_ rankle -- that Leto and Garrett hung out after games, Garrett’s little brother Carver tagging along even though he was a freshman on the JV team, same as Garrett had been. He was already bigger than Garrett -- taller, broader through the shoulders -- but where his brother was full of smiles and mischief, Carver was all scowls. Much like Leto, in fact.

 

“I am not a homophobe,” Leto said deliberately. “I just do not like you.”

 

Anders laughed, though there wasn’t much humor in the sound. “That much is obvious, although you know, you’ve never told me why, exactly.”

 

Leto’s gaze flickered over to Anders’s ear, and Anders barely stifled the urge to reach up and cover the gold hoop he wore in the lobe.

 

“Because you’re dangerous.”

 

Anders tried all the tricks the school counselor had taught him, all the pieces of advice Mr. Thekla had given him on how to deal with bullies, but even holding his breath and counting to ten couldn’t stop him from saying, “Oh that’s rich, coming from you.” He let his eyes wander over Leto’s multiple visible tattoos, trying to put as much disdain into his expression as possible. “Which one of us is currently on crutches from an injury received while fighting? Oh, and _on probation_ for it.”

 

Leto had the nerve to not even look ashamed. “That is different. I have never been arrested.”

 

Anders wanted to protest the low blow, but to do so would have meant conceding that Leto had a point. Which he didn’t. He’d been arrested, yes, but because his stupid foster father -- the one _before_ this one, who was actually kind of nice in that he took a mostly hands-off approach to dealing with Anders -- had called the cops on Anders for being out after curfew. It wasn’t like he’d robbed a convenience store or been caught drinking. ( _Caught_ being the operative word there.)

 

“Well, thanks for your concern, but I’m sure Garrett can handle himself. He’s a big boy.” Feeling perverse, Anders continued, “And I bet I could get him to ask me out before the homecoming game this weekend.”

 

The last thing he was expecting was for Leto to call his bluff -- _and_ raise the stakes.

 

“All right. What are we betting?”

 

Anders blinked, but tried not to let the surprise and panic show on his face. Never let them know they’ve got the upper hand, the echo of Mr. Thekla said. “If he doesn’t ask me out by this weekend…” He thought fast, trying to find something that would seem a worthwhile bet to Leto but wouldn’t get him into too much trouble. “…I’ll wear the girl’s cheerleading uniform at the game.”

 

Leto’s eyebrow shot up nearly into his hairline. He claimed the platinum blond look was natural, but Anders wasn’t buying it for a second. His eyebrows were almost black. _And he has the nerve to call me a delinquent._

“That is acceptable.”

 

“And if I win?” No way was Anders going to be the only one with something at stake.

 

Leto nodded. “The same. If he does not ask me out by this weekend, I will wear the girl’s cheerleading uniform. I won’t be allowed to play anyway.”

 

Anders spluttered in disbelief, but the words “Ask _you_ out?” wouldn’t leave his mouth, and then Ms. Wynne was calling the class to attention, and Leto made his way down the aisle to his desk without giving Anders the chance to ask him what the fuck that was about.

 

Which was just as well, all things considered. Ms. Wynne had a zero-tolerance policy for language in her classroom. Starting the week off with a detention wouldn’t do him any favors.

 

***

 

“What have I done?” Anders groaned into his hands at lunch.

 

“Gotten yourself into a ridiculous bet with Leto, from what I hear,” Isabela purred from the other side of the table, ruining his dramatic build-up and effectively stealing his thunder.

 

“You heard already?” It was hard not to pout when his juiciest gossip had already been told for him, but then the implications of that struck him and he moaned again. “Oh God, don’t tell me the whole _school_ knows.”

 

“I’d like to, sweet thing, but I can’t,” Isabela said airily, drenching her fries in ketchup. Anders made a face automatically. It was a long-standing point of friendly contention between them: to dip or drench. Anders was a dipper. Isabela preferred the more direct method.

 

“I guess you heard the terms of the bet then.”

 

“Yep. I was surprised. Do you think he swings both ways like us and Garrett, or is he just into di--” Isabela paused as Dean Greagoir walked by, raising his eyebrow at them. “ --dippers?” she finished sweetly, all innocence.

 

“You could always ask him and find out,” Anders muttered. “I’ve never wanted to know, personally.”

 

“You’re no fun.”

 

“…Will I have to shave my legs?” She gave him a confused look, and he elaborated. “When I lose this godawful bet and have to wear a skirt to the homecoming game. Should I shave my legs?”

 

“Leaving aside your defeatist attitude, that’s up to you. Some people do, some people don’t. Personally, I like the silky-smooth feeling of my thighs rubbing together, but there’s plenty to be said for body hair too. You could ask Leliana. I’m pretty sure she quit shaving when she got to college -- right about the time she went vegetarian and started listening to old Bob Dylan and Joan Baez albums full time.” She reached over and pinched his cheek, which he only allowed because they were best friends and he’d lost his virginity to her over a year ago. “But you won’t have to worry about it, because I’m sure he’ll ask you out.”

 

“Or he’ll be completely diplomatic and not ask either one of us out, and we’ll both be standing there in skirts.”

 

Isabela leered. “Only if I’m really, _really_ lucky.”

 

***

 

By Thursday, Anders was a nervous wreck. Garrett had actually been paying more attention to him -- surely that wasn’t just his imagination -- but no mention had been made of a date, or the homecoming dance, or the game, or even the bet. Leto and Anders had agreed, somewhat belatedly, that neither of them were allowed to ask _Garrett_ on a date, as the bet had been that Garrett would ask one of them.

 

And Garrett continued to not ask. Anders’s only consolation was that he apparently hadn’t asked Leto, either.

 

“You’re sure he knows?” Anders whined to Isabela on Thursday afternoon.

 

“Well, Bethany and Carver both say he does,” Isabela said reasonably. “Congratulations, by the way. Almost everyone in the school is taking bets on who he’s going to ask. Merrill said that even her pot dealer is in on it.”

 

Part of Anders didn’t want to know, but a bigger part _did_ , so he asked, “Who… who are most people betting on?”

 

Isabela shrugged. “I didn’t ask.”

 

“Who are _you_ betting on?”

 

“You.” Before Anders could feel warm and fuzzy, she licked her lips and said, “I _know_ your legs are great -- I don’t need to see you in a skirt. I’ve been _dying_ to see what Fenris is hiding under all that uniform padding, though.”

 

“Gee, thanks, Isabela,” Anders said dryly.

 

She beamed at him. “You’re welcome.”

 

***

 

The game was Friday night -- the night before the homecoming dance. Surprisingly, Garrett hadn’t been voted homecoming king. That honor went to Donnic, since he and Aveline were the school’s sweetheart couple. They’d been together so long the only reason anyone remembered they had ever _not_ been a couple was because Aveline was always the student liaison for the anti-drunk driving awareness event every year. Her first boyfriend had been killed by a drunk driver, and she took the issue very seriously.

 

As far as Anders knew, Garrett hadn’t asked _anyone_. He certainly hadn’t asked Anders, and when Leto showed up at the game in a sleeveless top and miniskirt, still on his crutches with one ankle bandaged, Anders knew he hadn’t asked Leto either. At least that was a consolation.

 

Anders had expected to get a lot more booing and jeering when he stepped onto the field in his knee socks and short skirt, his shoulder-length hair pulled back and tied with a ribbon. He’d shaved his legs after all, deciding that owning the experience and going all-out would take the wind out of some of the teasing. After all, if he was enjoying it, the bullies couldn’t use it against him. Besides, Isabela had been right about that silky smooth feeling.

 

He cheered with everything he had, high kicks and pom-poms and everything, and he had to give it to the school board that no one came down to tell him he had to put pants on. In fact, he seemed pretty popular, getting wild applause from the crowd when he did a little shimmy, making his skirt twirl around his thighs.

 

They won the game, and that at least was salve to Anders’s bruised heart, even though he felt himself choke up when he saw Garrett throw his arm around Carver’s shoulder as they swaggered off the field, victorious. Garrett never once looked back, and Anders suddenly felt invisible, despite being the center of attention throughout the non-football portions of the evening.

 

He left his pom-poms with the others and wandered around to the shadowy path between the far end of the bleachers and what he thought of as the “pep-talk room,” although he had no idea what the squat cinderblock building was actually called. It was where the team went during halftime and after the game, at any rate, and he could hear the muffled voices in there now, the indistinct sounds of celebration and Coach Hawke’s voice booming over them all.

 

He still had the homecoming dance to survive, but at least the rest of this was over. He could go back to school on Monday without this ridiculous bet hanging over his head, and he and Leto could go back to coldly ignoring each other. There was something to be said for the status quo.

 

The muffled sounds from the team grew louder as the door burst open on the other side of the building, and Anders stayed where he was, hidden in the shadows, unwilling to be seen in the moment of his greatest defeat. The players jostled each other as they passed the narrow path, not even glancing toward him, and Anders found himself contemplating the pleats of his skirt.

 

He was deep in thought about nothing at all and didn’t notice the bulky silhouette at the end of the path until it took a step toward him. He dropped the hem of his skirt and startled upright, feeling his pulse flutter with panic.

 

 _Brilliant, Anders,_ he lectured himself. _Go hide in a dark pathway wearing a miniskirt when the whole town knows you’re a queer and knows why you’re in this uniform in the first place._ He wondered if anyone would hear him if he screamed, but just as he was opening his mouth to find out, the shadow spoke.

 

“I was wondering where you went.”

 

 _Garrett_.

 

“Ah, you know. Just…hiding from abject humiliation in front of everyone in town.”

 

Garrett chuckled, low and warm, and Anders wasn’t prepared for the gut-deep punch of _want_ that surged through him.

 

“I don’t know,” Garrett purred. “I thought you looked good.” He was standing right in front of Anders now, his features barely visible in the reflected angles of stadium lighting. “Really good, in fact.”

 

 _Well, you’re responsible for it,_ was on the tip of his tongue, but then Garrett’s hand slid across his hip and he forgot what words were, much less how to form them and push them out into the world.

 

“In fact, I was hoping I could ask you to the homecoming dance tomorrow night. As my date.”

 

Anders couldn’t tell whether Garrett was serious or teasing, but he knew it was better to assume the worst. At least then he couldn’t be disappointed.

 

“Ah,” he said -- rather intelligently, he thought. “Well, I’m afraid the skirt thing was a one-night-only deal. I wouldn’t want to accidentally show up in the same dress Aveline is wearing, for example. She’d break my nose. Probably literally.”

 

There was that laugh again, and really, no one had the right to sound that sexy in real life.

 

“You don’t have to wear a dress, Anders. I just want you there. With me.” His fingers twitched against Anders’s hip then, and a note of hesitation crept into his voice. “Assuming you actually do like me, that is, and this wasn’t just another rivalry between you and Fen--”

 

Garrett never got the chance to finish that sentence, because Anders wasn’t going to wait to see if he woke up from this dream before he got a chance to actually _kiss_ him. There would be no pinching tonight. Not of that variety, at least.

 

Garrett caught him around the waist, his noise of surprise melting into one of pleasure, and shivers worked up Anders’s spine as Garrett plunged the fingers of one hand into the loose hair underneath Anders’s half-ponytail, cupping his neck and slanting their mouths together to deepen the kiss. Anders was the first to pull back, having forgotten how to breathe while kissing, and they panted into each other’s mouths, unwilling to separate too much.

 

“I thought -- I thought you didn’t like me,” Anders whispered before his better sense could kick in to tell him not to _remind_ the sexy man in his arms that he didn’t want to be kissing Anders after all. “You didn’t…”

 

“I couldn’t let Leto be the only one to lose the bet,” Garrett said softly. “He’s my friend.” His fingers massaged Anders’s neck, making him want to purr like a cat. “Besides,” he continued with a hint of mirth, placing a brief kiss at the side of Anders’s mouth, “I wanted to see you in a skirt. I like skirts. Easy access.”

 

The hand not in Anders’s hair skimmed down his side to his thigh, pushing up under the uniform. Garrett groaned when his fingers touched Anders’s skin, resting his head on Anders’s shoulder.

 

“ _Christ_ ,” he said. “You sh-shaved your legs.”

 

Insecurity swept through Anders suddenly, and he turned his head just enough to nuzzle Garrett’s ear. “Is that -- is that okay?”

 

Instead of answering, Garrett kissed him again, hard and deep, and pulled up on his thigh until Anders got the picture and wrapped his leg around Garrett’s hip, leaning back against the cool cinderblocks of the pep-talk room for support. He could feel Garrett growing hard against him, little involuntary thrusts of his hips bringing them together, and he shivered at the knowledge of what that meant.

 

Garrett broke the kiss, much to Anders’s dismay, but the trail of little bites and kisses across his jaw and down his neck made up for the loss, and he writhed in Garrett’s arms. Finally, the assault paused long enough for Garrett to lift his head and say, “Anders. Homecoming. Yes or no?”

 

Anders tightened his arms around Garrett’s neck, hitched his leg a little higher around Garrett’s hips, and brought their faces so close together their lips brushed.

 

“Yes,” he said, and kissed him.


End file.
